Real Bad Day
by Tolakasa
Summary: Even demons have bad days. OC POV. Spoilers for season 2 finale.


**Warning:** Content highly irreverent.

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**Real Bad Day**

Hi, Mikey. Slummin' again?

Don't get pissed, just makin' conversation. Not often one of you feathery bitches shows up in our breakroom. And don't go eatin' all the devil's food cupcakes, not unless you're gonna start bringin' in replacement supplies. You think we get to go out shoppin'?

Trouble? Nah, ain't been no—

Oh. _Him._

How long was he here? Not even a day, can you believe it? A _human_ day. Got cold. Maybe got out of rigor. But not that long, in the grand scheme of things.

And us maintenance demons are gonna be moppin' up the mess for a hundred years. _Our_ years.

Just a damn good thing ol' Naikoi got himself killed in that fight, 'cause the Big Guy was plannin' some _serious_ havoc for his black hide. Skinnin' was gonna be the least of his plans, and demons don't skin easy, y'know?

Oh, shut up.

The Main House is a mess. Half of Maintenance is gonna be workin' on it for a millennium. I hate it when the Big Guy throws tantrums, but this whole thing sparked one, sure's your boss hates us. Shattered fifteen marble mantels, a couple hundred chandeliers, and splattered about a hundred imps on the ceiling of the office, for starters.

Yeah, good thing Naikoi's dead, or he'd wish he was.

Oh, fuck you with your flamin' sword, Mikey. Not all of us wanna be stealin' souls and killin' things. I _like_ this gig. It's my job to keep Hell in decent shape and I'm bloody proud of it. Two hundred millennia I've worked my ass off, keepin' things clean and shiny, from the lava pits to ferryboats to the Main House itself, and that prissy little bitch-boy shows up and levels half of Hell in a day. A _human_ day. Shit, on our clock, he wasn't here long enough to even get processed.

Man, I look _stupid_ to you? Even Maintenance knows all about the Winchesters. You think we spend our breaks playin' sudoku? Wouldn't find one of _us_ stupid enough to play mind games with 'em, I promise you that. The sire was bad enough, and Naikoi had him locked up in the high-security block, not with the other sold souls, he thought Winchester was that dangerous. The colts—gah. No way. No _fucking_ way.

So what does Naikoi do? Throws a killin' party and lets one of _them_ get killed. The _baby_, the one he corrupted, so the brat came _straight_ to Hell, never even _saw_ the pearly gates. Sammy, they call him. Hah. Destruction on two legs, more like. Naikoi fucked up big. Corruption didn't take all the way— What, you guys ain't _seen_ that? The boss's kid turnin' all the water into wine again?

Nah, Naikoi fucked up, didn't give him enough or somethin', so the brat's got demon-power and a pure soul. Soon's he saw where he was—

You could tell he'd never tapped into his powers, not really. Well, hell, Mikey, the first thing he leveled was the Fundie Block! Even you feathered freaks know better than to let _those_ stupid bastards loose! Falwell got out before the Big Guy could slam a new lid on it, and _he'd_ just gotten here. Big Guy wanted to kill Naikoi just for that.

But the boy's a quick study, I'll give him that. Powerful and pissed—never a good combo. Started blastin' all kinds of things, things that pure soul of his thought would do _good_. Yeah, like the time your boss's boy came for a visit. Yeesh. Fried most of the imps in the first five minutes. Totally imploded the Lustballoon—yeah, _all_ the succubi and incubi that weren't on assignment. The Big Guy's really unhappy about that. They're not like imps, you know, can't be made in a day.

Then he found the block where Jasaim keeps the sold souls, and— Man, it just makes me _cry_.

Thanks. It's just, that was such a nice old prison, you know? So beautiful. Lot of craftsmanship and deviltry went into those bricks. I loved polishin' those floors, they were just gorgeous. Obsidian, you know, made special by the Big Guy himself. And the walls, oh, those _walls_, all the subtle carvin' so that the souls saw nothin' but their worst nightmares there, playin' like they was real life... And now it's all rubble, and we're the ones who gotta clean it up. It— It's almost enough to make me invoke your boss, that's what. Just _terrible_.

Anyhow, 'bout then was when the Big Guy reached up and planted the idea in the other colt, and sent Jasaim scamperin' to make a deal and get the baby outta here. Why? _Think_ about it, Mikey. What if he'd started blastin' the hardcore blocks, the dictators and serial killers? Not like the world needs Hitler and Jack the Ripper and Cortes back.

Of course, Jasaim fucked that up too. You ain't heard? 'Stead of taking the first deal the older colt offered, she haggled him down to a year and then sealed it by tellin' him that if he tried to get out of it, she'd kill Sammy all over again. Like we _want_ him back.

Oh, don't give me that. If you feathered bastards weren't so fuckin' _picky_ about what walks on those tacky gold streets of yours, this wouldn't be _our_ problem! Maybe if you judged less on intentions and more on results, people would actually _want_ to go to Heaven!

She gave him a year. A human _year_. And then we get _him_. Less power, more temper, and his purity might be questionable but even this little maintenance demon knows third time ain't necessarily the charm. Shoulda sent Maintenance to make that deal. Us, we keep Hell's best interests at heart.

Jasaim? Well, she's gonna get skinned. Maybe more'n once. But he can't make her undo the deal. Bad precedent and all. So we got a human year to get the place cleaned up, rebuilt, and all shiny again before the older one gets down here.

Yeah, well, you guys could help us, but will you? Have your boss reach in and cancel the deal. Only one that can.

Shit, I don't know, Mikey. Tell him that there's a couple hundred of Naikoi's favorite lieutenants runnin' loose on the world, not to mention Falwell's ghost. Or maybe your boss's too busy plannin' to knock up another hapless virgin?

Oh, like he runs the universe by himself. You guys'd be lost without us and you fuckin' well know it.

Anyhow. Break's over. Gotta go scrub the soot off the ballroom walls so the builders can get in and repaint before they replace the floor. Pity. Fine old mahogany floor, and that Sammy kid burned it to a crisp without a second thought. Put in a good word with your boss for us, will you? Cause if the older one—

Dean? That's his name? Gah. It even sounds bad.

We got lucky this time. We got the Winchester colt outta here before he could do real damage. But if Dean gets here—he's gonna have _eternity_ to tear the place apart, and none of us can afford that, Mikey, you _know_ that. Not even you freaks.

Tell _that_ to your boss.

**_the end_**


End file.
